My Sister's Hand in Mine (10 page)

“Listen, Copperfield,” Mrs. Quill had answered, “you go and have the time of your life in Panama. Don't you think about us for one minute. Do you hear me? My, oh my, if I was young enough to be going to Panama City with my husband, I'd be wearing a different expression on my face than you are wearing now.”

“That means nothing to be going to Panama City with your husband,” Pacifica had insisted very firmly. “That does not mean that she is happy. Everyone likes to do different things. Maybe Copperfield likes better to go fishing or buy dresses.” She had then smiled gratefully at Pacifica.

“Well,” Mrs. Quill had retorted somewhat feebly, “I'm sure you would be happy, Pacifica, if you were going to Panama City with your husband.… It's beautiful over there.”

“Anyway, she has been in Paris,” Pacifica had answered.

“Well, promise me you will be here when I get back,” Mrs. Copperfield had begged them. “I'm so terrified that you might suddenly vanish.”

“Don't make up such stories to yourself, my dear; life is difficult enough. Where are we going away?” Pacifica had said to her, yawning and starting to go inside. Then she had blown a kiss to Mrs. Copperfield from the doorway and waved her hand.

“Such fun, to be with them,” she said, audibly, opening her eyes. “They are a great comfort.”

Mr. Copperfield was on his way back to the flat rock where she was sitting. He had a stone of strange texture and formation in his hand. He was smiling as he came towards her.

“Look,” he said, “isn't this an amusing stone? It's really quite beautiful. I thought you would like to see it, so I brought it to you.” Mrs. Copperfield examined the stone and said: “Oh, it is beautiful and very strange. Thanks ever so much.” She looked at it lying in the palm of her hand. As she examined it Mr. Copperfield pressed her shoulder and said: “Look at the big steamer plowing through the water. Do you see it?” He twisted her neck slightly so that she might look in the right direction.

“Yes, I see it. It's wonderful too.… I think we had better be walking back home. It's going to be dark soon.”

They left the beach and started walking through the streets again. It was getting dark, but there were more people standing around now. They commented openly on Mr. and Mrs. Copperfield as they passed by.

“It's really been the most wonderful day,” Mr. Copperfield said. “You must have enjoyed some of it, because we've seen such incredible things.” Mrs. Copperfield squeezed his hand harder and harder.

“I don't have wingèd feet like you,” she said to him. “You must forgive me. I can't move about so easily. At thirty-three I have certain habits.”

“That's bad,” he answered. “Of course, I have certain habits too—habits of eating, habits of sleeping, habits of working—but I don't think that is what you meant, was it?”

“Let's not talk about it. That isn't what I meant, no.”

*   *   *

The next day Mrs. Copperfield said that they would go out and see some of the jungle. Mrs. Copperfield said they hadn't the proper equipment and he explained that he hadn't meant that they would go exploring into the jungle but only around the edges where there were paths.

“Don't let the word ‘jungle' frighten you,” he said. “After all it only means tropical forest.”

“If I don't feel like going in I won't. It doesn't matter. Tonight we are going back to Colon, aren't we?”

“Well, maybe we'll be too tired and we'll have to stay here another night.”

“But I told Pacifica and Mrs. Quill that we would be back tonight. They'll be so disappointed if we aren't.”

“You aren't really considering
them,
are you?… After all, Frieda! Anyway, I don't think they'll mind. They'll understand.”

“Oh, no, they won't,” answered Mrs. Copperfield. “They'll be disappointed. I told them I would be back before midnight and that we would go out and celebrate. I'm positive that Mrs. Quill will be very disappointed. She loves to celebrate.”

“Who on earth is Mrs. Quill?”

“Mrs. Quill … Mrs. Quill and Pacifica.”

“Yes, I know, but it's so ridiculous. It seems to me you wouldn't care to see them for more than one evening. I should think it would be easy to know what they were like in a very short time.”

“Oh, I know what they're like, but I do have so much fun with them.” Mr. Copperfield did not answer.

They went out and walked through the streets until they came to a place where there were some buses. They inquired about schedules, and boarded a bus called
Shirley Temple.
On the insides of the doors were painted pictures of Mickey Mouse. The driver had pasted postcards of the saints and the holy virgin on the windshield above his head. He was drinking a Coca-Cola when they got in the bus.

“¿En que barco vinieron?”
asked the driver.

“Venimos de Colon,”
said Mr. Copperfield.

“What was that?” Mrs. Copperfield asked him.

“Just what boat did we come on, and I answered we have just arrived from Colon. You see, most people have just come off a boat. It corresponds to asking people where they live, in other places.”

“J'adore Colon, c'est tellement…”
began Mrs. Copperfield. Mr. Copperfield looked embarrassed. “Don't speak in French to him. It doesn't make any sense. Speak to him in English.”

“I adore Colon.”

The driver made a face. “Dirty wooden city. I am sure you have made a big mistake. You will see. You will like Panama City better. More stores, more hospitals, wonderful cinemas, big clean restaurants, wonderful houses in stone; Panama City is a big place. When we drive through Ancon I will show you how nice the lawns are and the trees and the sidewalks. You can't show me anything like that in Colon. You know who likes Colon?” He leaned way over the back of his seat, and as they were sitting behind him he was breathing right in their faces.

“You know who likes Colon?” He winked at Mr. Copperfield. “They're all over the streets. That is what it is there; nothing else much. We have that here too, but in a separate place. If you like that you can go. We have everything here.”

“You mean the whores?” asked Mrs. Copperfield in a clear voice.

“Las putas,”
Mr. Copperfield explained in Spanish to the driver. He was delighted at the turn in the conversation and fearful lest the driver should not get the full savor of it.

The driver covered his mouth with his hand and laughed.

“She loves that,” said Mr. Copperfield, giving his wife a push.

“No—no,” said the driver, “she could not.”

“They've all been very sweet to me.”

“Sweet!”
said the driver, almost screaming. “There is not this much sweet in them.” He made a tiny little circle with his thumb and forefinger. “No, not sweet—someone has been fooling you. He knows.” He put his hand on Mr. Copperfield's leg.

“I'm afraid I don't know anything about it,” said Mr. Copperfield. The driver winked at him again, and then he said, “She thinks she knows
las
—I will not say the word, but she has never met one of them.”

“But I have. I have even taken a siesta with one.”

“Siesta!”
the driver roared with laughter. “Don't make fun please, lady. That is not very nice, you know.” He suddenly looked very sober. “No, no, no.” He shook his head sadly.

By now the bus had filled up and the driver was obliged to start off. Every time they stopped he would turn around and wag a finger at Mrs. Copperfield. They went through Ancon and passed several long low buildings set up on some small hills.

“Hospitals,” yelled the driver for the benefit of Mr. and Mrs. Copperfield. “They have doctors here for every kind of thing in the world. The Army can go there for nothing. They eat and they sleep and they get well all for nothing. Some of the old ones live there for the rest of their lives. I dream to be in the American Army and not driving this dirty bus.”

“I should hate to be regimented,” said Mr. Copperfield with feeling.

“They are always going to dinners and balls, balls and dinners,” commented the driver. There was a murmuring from the back of the bus. The women were all eager to know what the driver had said. One of them who spoke English explained rapidly to the others in Spanish. They all giggled about it for fully five mintues afterwards. The driver started to sing
Over There,
and the laughter reached the pitch of hysteria. They were now almost in the country, driving alongside a river. Across the river was a very new road and behind that a tremendous thick forest.

“Oh, look,” said Mr. Copperfield, pointing to the forest. “Do you see the difference? Do you see how enormous the trees are and how entangled the undergrowth is? You can tell that even from here. No northern forests ever look so rich.”

“That's true, they don't,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

The bus finally stopped at a tiny pier. Only three women and the Copperfields remained inside by now. Mrs. Copperfield looked at them hoping that they were going to the jungle, too.

Mr. Copperfield descended from the bus and she followed reluctantly. The driver was already in the street smoking. He was standing beside Mr. Copperfield, hoping that he would start another conversation. But Mr. Copperfield was much too excited at being so near the jungle to think of anything else. The three women did not get out. They remained in their seats talking. Mrs. Copperfield looked back into the bus and stared at them with a perplexed expression on her face. She seemed to be saying: “Please come out, won't you?” They were embarrassed and they started to giggle again.

Mrs. Copperfield went over to the driver and said to him: “Is this the last stop?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And they?”

“Who?” he asked, looking dumb.

“Those three ladies in the back.”

“They ride. They are very nice ladies. This is not the first time they are riding on my bus.”

“Back and forth?”

“Sure,” said the driver.

Mr. Copperfield took Mrs. Copperfield's hand and led her onto the pier. A little ferry was coming towards them. There seemed to be no one on the ferry at all.

Suddenly Mrs. Copperfield said to her husband: “I just don't want to go to the jungle. Yesterday was such a strange, terrible day. If I have another day like it I shall be in an awful state. Please let me go back on the bus.”

“But,” said Mr. Copperfield, “after you've come all the way here, it seems to me so silly and so senseless to go back. I can assure you that the jungle will be of some interest to you. I've been in them before. You see the strangest-shaped leaves and flowers. And I'm sure you would hear wonderful noises. Some of the birds in the tropics have voices like xylophones, others like bells.”

“I thought maybe when I arrived here I would feel inspired; that I would feel the urge to set out. But I don't in the least. Please let's not discuss it.”

“All right,” said Mr. Copperfield. He looked sad and lonely. He enjoyed so much showing other people the things he liked best. He started to walk away towards the edge of the water and stared out across the river at the opposite shore. He was very slight and his head was beautifully shaped.

“Oh, please don't be sad!” said Mrs. Copperfield, hurrying over to him. “I refuse to allow you to be sad. I feel like an ox. Like a murderer. But I would be such a nuisance over on the other side of the river in the jungle. You'll love it once you're over there and you will be able to go much farther in without me.”

“But my dear—I don't mind … I only hope you will be able to get home all right on the bus. Heaven knows when I'll get home. I might decide to just wander around and around … and you don't like to be alone in Panama.”

“Well then,” said Mrs. Copperfield, “suppose I take the train back to Colon. It's a simple trip, and I have only one grip with me. Then you can follow me tonight if you get back early from the jungle, and if you don't you can come along tomorrow morning. We had planned to go back tomorrow anyway. But you must give me your word of honor that you will come.”

“It's all so complicated,” said Mr. Copperfield. “I thought we were going to have a nice day in the jungle. I'll come back tomorrow. The luggage is there, so there is no danger of my not coming back. Good-by.” He gave her his hand. The ferry was scraping against the dock.

“Listen,” she said, “if you're not back by twelve tonight, I shall sleep at the Hotel de las Palmas. I'll phone our hotel at twelve and see if you're there, in case I'm out.”

“I won't be there until tomorrow.”

“I'm at the Hotel de las Palmas if I'm not home, then.”

“All right, but be good and get some sleep.”

“Yes, of course I will.”

He got into the boat and it pulled out.

“I hope his day has not been spoiled,” she said to herself. The tenderness that she was feeling for him now was almost overwhelming. She got back on the bus and stared fixedly out the window because she did not want anyone to see that she was crying.

*   *   *

Mrs. Copperfield went straight to the Hotel de las Palmas. As she descended from the carriage she saw Pacifica walking towards her alone. She paid the driver and rushed up to her.

“Pacifica! How glad I am to see you!”

Pacifica's forehead had broken out. She looked tired.

“Ah, Copperfield,” she said, “Mrs. Quill and I did not think we would ever see you again and now you are back.”

“But, Pacifica, how can you say a thing like that? I'm surprised at both of you. Didn't I promise you I would be back before midnight and that we would celebrate?”

“Yes, but people often say this. After all, nobody gets angry if they don't come back.”